


All the Carnage of My Journeys

by Vampiric_Charms



Series: Burns Most of All [19]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 00:29:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7244905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fortunes are told and fortunes are changed.  Where do you stand, at the end of your world, when all you know to be waiting is darkness?  Where do you stand, when everything you expect to come is changed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Carnage of My Journeys

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samwisespotatoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwisespotatoes/gifts).



> This is a request for **samwisespotatoes** , who asked for the complete opposite of _Rejoice Upon the Slain_ \- instead wishing to see a reunion after the end rather than a separation. So, here you are! Set at some vague point after Dagor Dagorath (or, at least, after the destruction of the Ring). 
> 
> Enjoy!

Mairon was aware only of brightness, gentle and humming around him, bearing weightlessly against his closed eyes and into the smooth skin of his physical form. It was light of the sun, so sweet and pure, warm as flame yet calm as a springtime he had not felt in so very long. The sense of it lulled him, pulled at him in ebbs and flows of current as his mind slowly, ever so slowly, returned with faint awareness.

Sounds filtered through the hazy, warm fog settling so wonderfully over him. Chatter, distant and unfamiliar from some great distance. Clinking noises of glass, the hush of sliding fabric, the whining creak of metal. Explosions, then, and great rasps of death as armies fell in droves. But still - a soothing voice, whispering precious words just at his ear. Nothing of death. War was so far behind, here, wasn’t it. Yes, it was. Surely it was.

Images of memories broken through with engulfing fire and the pulsing heart of his mountain rushed through his mind’s eye...only as they, too, vanished into silence, and he could hear another heart, somewhere nearby, and still more silence filled with the incredible bright warmth of the sun. Darkness did not come.

It was minutes or days or many hundreds of years later he became conscious of his body once more, aware of it heavy and dense around his spirit after so long apart.

Conscious, again, of the breath passing through his nose into lungs filling with sweet-scented air, conscious of the sense of soft woven cotton pressed against him. Conscious of movement against his face, a pass of fingers across his forehead and down over his cheek, then feather-light over his eyes as they remained closed to whatever far away world he was in.

An odd sensation. He found, in the dizzying, dissociated fog of thought slowly returning - he did not like it much.

Perhaps...yes, perhaps it was time to remove whatever odd veil this was, time to _return_. Mairon could not recall what he had been doing before this current shadow, or what he had last been part of, where his soul had found residence for so long. And yet...rather than alarm at this realization, he became oddly serene. 

That time had passed, as time ought to do. This was simply new.

Slowly, gently, he extended his sense of self out through his legs, into his toes, feeling with a rush as they came to life once more. Into his arms and fingers, his shoulders, down through his torso, up through his neck and head. He became aware of space and time, aware that he was, in fact, lying in a very comfortable bed, in the sunshine streaming through a window, covered in lush blankets and furs. He felt his pulse increase, his heart acclimating to his body’s decision to wake from its long slumber. 

And then, more intensely than anything else, he felt the hand press to his cheek insistently, a grounding pressure of touch he had not felt for...

“Have you truly returned?”

The voice was so unexpected, so far removed from every surreal thing around him, surely he must be dreaming. A cruel, vicious dream before death removed him forever to the Void. He took a deep breath, rasping through his nose, and finally forced his eyes to flutter open. Light was harsh against his pupils, but there, sitting beside the bed in a room he did not recognize, was the very being he thought he would never see again.

Melkor smiled at him, a small grin that tugged at his lips and sparkled in his bright blue eyes, and Mairon felt his chest tighten until he thought he might suffocate from the sheer pain and utter _joy_ of it.

“Yours was not an easy soul to wrangle,” the Vala said softly, his hand leaving Mairon’s face to brush across his forehead again, smoothing over his hair. “When it was finally wrenched free from the world, you flew wild and more damaged than I have ever seen you to be. It took two of us to rebind you to your physical form once more. You had been so very splintered.”

He opened his mouth, confused and filled suddenly with so many questions, but Melkor shook his head. 

“Later, Mairon.” He swept his knuckles along Mairon’s cheek, pausing to cup his hand around his jaw. “For now - Nienna is saviour for us both, and we are granted a new beginning. There are…” He trailed off and chuckled, lowering his eyes for a moment before glancing up. “There are certain restrictions placed upon us, as far as what we might be allowed to _do_ with our leisure here in the West, but I took those restraints in an instant to have you returned to me.”

“I do not understand,” Mairon muttered, voice rumbling out through a throat that had not been used in ages.

Still, Melkor’s smile widened at the sound, and he moved his thumb to press against Mairon’s lips, gently silencing him. “Nor do I, not fully. I believe we have Nienna to thank for the entirety of our current situation, though I have not yet had a chance to privately converse with her on the subject. It pains her greatly to witness the suffering of others, and _you_ , my dear Mairon...you have been suffering for a very long while.”

Mairon forced his arm to move, out from under the heavy blankets. His muscles reacted sluggishly to the impulses sent out along nerves long since numbed, but slowly, frustratingly slowly, his fingers clutched clumsily at the back of Melkor’s hand where it was still pressing to his cheek.

Melkor obligingly turned his requested hand outward and took Mairon’s into his own, twining their fingers together in a way that was almost urgent and brought their clasped hands upward, pressing his lips to Mairon’s knuckles. The Vala closed his eyes, his mouth still soft against Mairon’s skin.

“How are you here?” Mairon croaked, fluster adamantly refusing to release itself to any form of clarity. “How...I do not...”

A part of him was still certain this was not true, that he was dreaming, soon to be torn apart once more. The thought was a horribly painful one, and a stifled gasp caught in his throat at the idea of this fading away, leaving him alone in darkness with nothing for a final time. The pitifully frightened sound more than anything caught Melkor’s attention again, and their eyes met.

“I would guess that Nienna knows far more than she lets on,” he murmured, voice low and soothing, and he ran his other hand over Mairon’s head and through his hair even as their fingers remained grasped together tightly.

A clinking of glass from somewhere beyond them was the first sign Mairon had that they were not alone in this unfamiliar room, and he blinked, letting his gaze widen to take in more of what was apparently an infirmary of some kind. Elves were wandering between several other beds, caring for ill patients. Melkor had said it just moments ago, but it was only now sinking in through his mind filled with haze. They were in Valinor. Sickening fear gripped his chest, and he hastily looked again at the Vala beside him for reassurance.

“You are quite safe,” Melkor immediately soothed. “We both are. Be still. Your soul was fragmented something fierce before it was restored; you need rest.”

Mairon had not even realized he’d attempted to move from the bed in his panic until Melkor’s firm hand was on his shoulder, easing him back down into the feather pillows. He took in a breath, feeling his heart beating wildly against his ribs. “But -”

“Hush now. Save your questions for when you have recovered.” Melkor chuckled, the sound alone enough to give Mairon peace he had not felt in so long. He relaxed, no longer fearing the grey fog tingling around his senses again. Melkor took up his hand once more, grasping it warmly with his own. “I can already see your mind moving far faster than it should just now. Sleep.”

“If I _were_ to sleep,” Mairon mumbled, hearing how slurred his words were becoming as his body succumbed much faster than he wished it would, “will you be here when I wake again? If this is a dream...”

“It would be an awfully foul one,” Melkor finished for him, a wan smile tugging his lips. “You are not dreaming, Mairon. Of course I will be here when you next open your eyes.” He tightened the clasp of their hands, enough that Mairon felt it even through his weakening hold on consciousness. 

He lost focus on the room and turned his bleary gaze to Melkor’s face, staring peacefully down at him. Strong and beautiful, utter perfection under the sunlight streaming through the windows. Ethereal, he was, in that in-between moment of waking and complete sleep, and Mairon stared, unabashed, drinking in the features he had lost for so very, very long. He closed his eyes, carrying the image with him.

Finally, as the fog pulled him away, soft words crept in, whispering of innumerable days to come, of loving things left to curl and twine through his mind as it drifted so far, and he understood then more clearly than he had at any moment prior. 

And perhaps, this time, he would dare believe it was true.


End file.
